


gut wrenching

by mullethyuck



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Accidental Death, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Angst, Animalistic, Blood and Violence, Body Horror, Dark, Eating, Feral Behavior, Full Moon, Gore, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Oh also, Predator/Prey, Survivor Guilt, Vomiting, but not really an accident?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:07:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26079994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mullethyuck/pseuds/mullethyuck
Summary: You shouldn't always trust your instincts. Jeno learns this the hard way.
Relationships: Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Lee Jeno
Comments: 8
Kudos: 25





	gut wrenching

**Author's Note:**

> i'm a monsterfucker, jeno's a furry, hyuck is a chocoball....this was bound to happen at some point
> 
> if you're reading this i'm assuming you're okay with the content but seriously please mind the tags!! stay safe <3
> 
> also i made a [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3vNyWGcTW9XiXbaAI8urEx?si=J9SorS9PSX231FHjAUezhg) for the vibes if you're into that, but i actually listened to [this](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1FGlLwVVyyCnrtb4RJzSxL?si=XzqESsXSRMeDLBBDVd2Xug) one while writing for some reason? so take your pick i guess

“Baby, you know you have to go.” Jeno puts his hands on his hips in his best attempt to be stern. It isn’t very successful, mostly because he’s weak to his boyfriend.

“Or,” Donghyuck says, yanking on Jeno’s cocked forearm so he falls on top of Donghyuck where he’s sprawled across the couch, “I could stay here and cuddle with you.” He practically puts Jeno in a headlock with how aggressively he holds Jeno’s head to his chest.

Jeno rolls his eyes good naturedly, and his next words come out distorted from the way his cheek is smushed into Donghyuck’s sternum. “I would love that, but we can’t.”

Donghyuck knows he’s right, but that doesn’t mean he likes it. “Why not?” He pouts, and Jeno is half tempted to give in and say they’ll watch Monsters, Inc. for probably the eightieth time this month. But he doesn’t, so Donghyuck keeps objecting. “Mark is so _boring._ I don’t wanna hang out with him, I wanna spend the night with the love of my life.” He squeezes Jeno some more, just for emphasis.

Jeno finally wraps his arms around Donghyuck, returning the hug. Donghyuck grins at him. “Sorry baby, but you’ll be safer in the city tonight. I don’t want you to get hurt.” He presses a kiss to Donghyuck’s collarbone, because that’s all he can reach.

Donghyuck kisses the crown of his head. “Fine,” he whines dramatically as he tangles his legs with Jeno’s. “But I’m not leaving yet.”

Jeno glances at the clock on the wall, then nuzzles back into Donghyuck. “You have an hour. Deal?” Donghyuck sticks his bottom lip out, like he’s about to argue. “It’s for your own good, Hyuckie,” Jeno says, lips ghosting against Donghyuck’s chin.

Donghyuck hums, twisting the ring on his middle finger like he always does when he’s thinking. Jeno puts a hand over it, feels the metal press against his palm as Donghyuck stills. “I trust you. You know that, right?” Donghyuck says it so simply, like it doesn’t mean the world to Jeno.

“I know.” Jeno’s smile is bright where it’s buried in the soft fabric of Donghyuck’s t-shirt.

Donghyuck brushes Jeno’s bangs back from his forehead with a fond smile. Jeno wishes he could take a photo, save Donghyuck forever like this. “I love you.”

Jeno pushes up onto his elbows to kiss the corner of Donghyuck’s mouth. “I love you too, my full sun,” he says as he flops back down on top of Donghyuck. He feels the giggle bubble up from Donghyuck’s chest before he hears it; it sounds like home.

* * *

Jeno loves the feeling of the crisp night air on his bare skin; loves the way the wind ghosts across his face, like little butterfly kisses from mother nature herself. It’s gentle, and sweet, and all the things Jeno himself tries to be. He feels Donghyuck in it; sees him in every blooming flower, every falling star, every sparkle of rain as it drips down the window pane. Donghyuck grounds him to this earth―the center of his universe, just like the sun.

Except for one night a month, when Jeno is ruled by the moon.

There’s a common misconception about werewolves: that they don’t know what they are, that the human and animal are somehow separate. Jeno is painfully aware of his true nature―he isn’t entirely sure what that means, but he knows that once every four weeks he becomes something _other,_ something buried deep within that’s been clawing its way out since the last full moon. He knows he can’t do anything to stop it; knows it’s just the hand he was dealt, for one reason or another, or maybe for no reason at all. Either way, he’s grateful he’s conscious enough of his circumstances to make sure he doesn’t hurt anyone he loves.

So it isn’t until Donghyuck is packed up for the night and kissing him goodbye and driving off in his truck that Jeno truly remembers to breathe. He exhales slowly, letting the tension seep from his muscles as he braces himself for what he knows is coming. He stands at the edge of the forest, watching the moon rise above the treeline, and he can feel the moment the moonlight hits his skin somewhere deep in his bones.

The transformation isn’t as dramatic as the myths make it out to be―just a pop of a joint here, a tearing muscle there, till Jeno’s skin stretches out over his new form and something carnal awakens in him. The fur comes next, then the claws, and the teeth. With every sliver of pearly light that pierces through the murk of the nearby forest, Jeno feels himself become a little less human and a little more terrified.

Until, of course, his paws hit the dirt and he loses all sense of emotion, or intuition, or even thought. All that matters is the _hunger―_ the need to satisfy every desire, every urge, every impulse he feels. His heightened senses take over his body, and he’s running for the woods before he even registers the movement. Even when he realizes what he’s doing, it’s only a peripheral thing; he’s latched onto a scent, and every fiber of his being is humming with the need to chase it.

So he does. He follows it past the treeline, into the thick of the forest, past a stream and a fallen oak and a particularly large rock that he has to hurdle just to get past. He follows it all the way to a tiny den, which would be nearly invisible to any passing human, but Jeno’s eyes are sharp enough to cut through the dark and spot the pair of rabbits inside. They’re just beginning to stir, stretching in preparation of the long night ahead, and Jeno takes advantage of their still hazy state.

He snaps one neck, then two. His teeth are big enough, jaws wide enough, to make quick work of such small, frail creatures. His fangs rip through fur and flesh and bone, swallowing it all in a frenzied attempt to quench a thirst for something unnamed. Most would call it bloodlust; Jeno would call it inevitable, if he called it anything at all.

He moves on quickly; there isn’t any reason to linger once he’s finished his short meal. There are plenty of other trails to follow, even through the tinge of iron in the back of his throat he can’t escape. It used to throw him, being surrounded by the smell of blood; but he’s experienced enough now to distinguish between the pulsing life of his next prey and the stale metallic crust that’s dried around his mouth, caked into the fur.

He finds an owl, another rabbit, even a fawn that somehow got away from its mother. Or maybe, Jeno would muse if he was human, it got abandoned; maybe he’s putting it out of its misery by saving it from a slow and painful death. Nature is not that forgiving, he knows. But it doesn’t matter in the end, because Jeno is not human, so he has no obligation to justify the killing. He is not on trial, and there are no reasons, or pros and cons. It just is. He does what his senses demand.

He still isn’t satiated, nor will he be any time soon, but the moment he lifts his head to sniff the air after gnawing on an especially tough bone, he latches onto the sweetest scent he’s ever come across. His mouth waters, drool dripping down his chin to mingle with the blood that’s still tacky there.

To say he wants would be fundamentally incorrect; animals do not, by definition, _want._ They crave, they need, they _ache._ Jeno aches for the source of the smell, aches to hold it between his teeth and taste the sweetness of a life almost ended. The fear makes blood syrupy, somehow―thick with it. Jeno will kill to taste that nectar again. There is no other option.

He lets the smell carry him, legs moving on their own, and doesn’t question the direction it takes him. He doesn’t care that he’s quickly approaching the edge of the woods, the edge of safety―it isn’t his own safety he’d be concerned about, anyway, if he could be concerned at all. He just keeps running, till he briefly registers the feeling of a new terrain beneath his paws; it’s hard, and unforgiving, and he’d know the name of it if he were human. As it is, he barely has time to notice the change before he’s being overwhelmed with the tempting aroma of blood unshed.

Well, _tempting_ isn’t the right word, exactly. Temptation implies that he’s capable of resisting, that there’s another option besides giving in. That isn’t how animals work; Jeno has latched onto a source of food, and he’s hungry. He will eat whatever is at the other end of the trail. He knows no other way.

He’s a skilled hunter, thanks to instincts amplified with years of practical use, so he knows to wait it out for an opportune moment to strike. He can see there’s only one figure―a man. The word, as his animal brain processes it, doesn’t mean much to him; but he’s had enough interactions with humans to identify them, at least on some level. He doesn’t get the chance to feed on humans often, and his heart thrums at the prospect of it.

Humans are notoriously unperceptive, and their eyesight after dark is dismal at best, so Jeno is able to get fairly close without detection. The human is alone, which is convenient, and currently hunched over a round form Jeno has no name for. He rolls it off to the side, and grabs another from where it’s leaning against the bulk of metal Jeno is crouching behind. When he kneels back down, back turned to Jeno’s position, Jeno pounces.

It’s a short bound for him, though to the human it probably seems like an impressive leap. His back paws hit the ground as he straightens up, claws coming out to slash in front of him, teeth snapping at the human’s neck. Admittedly, this is mostly for show; when Jeno wants the human dead, he will kill him. It may not be intentional, but there’s a certain savour in the look of fear that flashes in the human’s eyes. Most of Jeno’s prey is easier to overtake. Humans resist more than animals; they can conceptualize their own mortality, which somehow amplifies their primal need to stay alive. The fear of death may keep animals fighting, but the fear of what comes after death is stronger.

So the human fights for his life, however futile an endeavor it may be. He does land a punch to Jeno’s jaw, which stuns him long enough for the human to shout words at him in a language he can’t comprehend. The human seems to realize this a moment too late, and Jeno sees the pricking of tears in the corners of his eyes as he pleads in a way that will never reach Jeno. Animals do not cry; they cannot understand what it means to be so full of emotion that it spills over the brim. Far less than death will drive a man to tears.

Unfortunately for this human, he’s currently staring death in the teeth. Jeno’s mouth is watering now, the scent overpowering everything else on a level beyond explanation, something deep in his gut churning to get a bite. The human whispers one last word, or maybe three, Jeno wouldn’t know. Maybe the words aren’t meant for him at all.

If they are, the sentiment is lost the moment Jeno opens his jaw, bared fangs sinking into the soft part of the human’s neck, shattering the clavicles, right at the base of the throat where the veins thicken into arteries. Blood gushes onto his snout, into his nose, over his closed eyelids. The human is unconscious in seconds, and dead not long after, as Jeno drags his limp body to the ground and rips into it with strong claws. The human’s rib cage splinters with a crack, heart stopping with the force of the impact.

Jeno tears into the flesh of the human’s chest, ripping it apart mouthful by mouthful, tendons stuck between his teeth as he rummages through the internal organs. He’s just moving on to bite into a thigh when he’s momentarily distracted by the faintest light of the rising sun filtering through the trees. He tenses; unfortunately, his reign of terror has a curfew, and he’d been too distracted by the hunt to sense its imminent end. He may not be able to articulate the reason, but his instincts are telling him to head home, so he does.

He can’t just leave a good meal behind, though. This is the most satisfying catch he’s had in months, and he can’t fight the urge to drag his leftovers along with him. It’s cumbersome, and makes the trek back out of the forest much longer than it should be, and he definitely loses some bits and pieces along the way. It’s worth it, when he finally reaches a vaguely familiar patch of grass where a little house resides. He doesn’t know what’s brought him here, but it doesn’t matter. There’s no one around to interrupt him as he finishes his feast, so he’s content.

* * *

Jeno wakes up like he usually does the morning after a full moon: drowning in blood.

He’s laying stark naked, face down in a puddle of it, in the middle of his bed, and he groans because this is the third month in a row they’re going to have to buy new sheets. He lifts himself off the mattress, and his hands and feet are covered in the sticky substance, too; it’s smudged halfway up his calves, and his arms are drenched nearly to the elbow. It hasn’t even fully dried yet―he has to be careful not to transfer any more of it onto the furniture, or Donghyuck will throw a fit.

He goes to the bathroom to wash up as well as he can in the sink, and avoids looking at the mirror so he won’t see his own face smeared with a reminder of what he’s done, what he _is._ He brushes his teeth, washing as many bloody chunks of flesh down the drain as he can. He’s too tired to floss; he’ll do it later, when Donghyuck inevitably refuses to kiss him until he gets rid of whatever meat is still lingering there. Most of it is ligaments, anyway. That’s always the worst part to get rid of.

Once he feels halfway human, he pulls on a pair of boxers and walks out into the kitchen, where Donghyuck is always waiting with hot pancakes and fresh squeezed orange juice because he’s adamant that Jeno eats something besides raw meat for breakfast. Jeno would argue it’s unnecessary, but he secretly loves the attention, and he appreciates the sentiment either way. Plus, it’s not like he’d change Donghyuck’s mind.

He turns the corner, smile already on his face at the prospect of seeing the love of his life after an entire night apart, teasing question of how Donghyuck liked staying with Mark on the tip of his tongue. But when he steps onto the cold tile of the kitchen floor, Donghyuck is nowhere to be found.

Jeno doesn’t know how to react. It’s unusual, sure, but Donghyuck is also pretty strict about cleaning up all the blood as soon as possible, so maybe he’s getting a head start. “Hyuckie?” Jeno calls into the silent house. He pushes into the laundry room, where they keep all their more intense cleaning solutions. “Baby, are you there?” He gets no answer.

He closes the door, moving to cross into the living room, but as he passes through the kitchen, movement in his peripheral vision draws his gaze to the backyard. There’s a swarm of crows, all gathered around something Jeno can’t quite make out, but he assumes it’s some half-eaten animal he’s left for later. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s brought leftovers home. Whatever it is looks pretty big―he must have gotten a deer last night. He likes to save the legs, much to Donghyuck’s dismay.

Donghyuck also hates having suspicious hordes of birds in the yard, and understandably so. Maybe he’s gone out to try and shoo them away; he’s never been all that great at it, so he almost always ends up enlisting Jeno’s help anyway. Maybe the crows can sense that Jeno is not all he seems. Or maybe Donghyuck just isn’t as intimidating as he believes himself to be. It doesn’t matter, in the end. Jeno goes outside to get rid of them before Donghyuck even needs to ask.

He still doesn’t see Donghyuck, but the quickly growing flock of birds is a more pressing issue at the moment. After a short pause to survey his surroundings and finding himself alone with the crows and whatever remains they’re gathered around, Jeno walks over and flails wildly, which does the trick. The crows disperse, flying en masse to perch in the trees at the edge of the forest. They’re watching Jeno, waiting for him to leave.

He does, but only long enough to grab a trash bag from under the kitchen sink. He calls Donghyuck’s name a few more times, pacing around the room, but all he gets in return is silence. He hates it, and considers texting Donghyuck to ask when he’ll be home, but Donghyuck is in good hands. Mark may annoy Donghyuck, but he takes care of him. They wouldn’t have made it as best friends for nearly ten years if he didn’t.

Jeno still feels off, a prickling on the back of his neck, but he knows the crows will be back soon if he doesn’t hurry and clean the yard. He opts to grab the whole roll of bags, since whatever is out there is larger than most things he drags home, and he’d rather avoid walking back and forth just to fetch more, if he can help it. He kicks the kitchen door closed on his way out, ears involuntarily pricking for the sound of Donghyuck fussing at him about being more careful. He hears nothing.

He crosses the yard, standing over the corpse, bare feet sinking into the grass where it’s soggy with half-dried blood and other bodily fluids Jeno would rather not think about. It’s this moment he gets his first good look at the body, and he finds that it’s unnervingly _human._ And it’s jarring, to say the least; he’s never killed another person before. That’s the entire reason he ships Donghyuck off to stay with Mark on the full moon: nobody comes way out here, and Jeno doesn’t venture anywhere near the city when he’s transformed, so he won’t risk putting anyone in danger. Or well, that’s what he always thought, up till now.

His eyes rove over the area, piecing the body together, bit by bit: a mangled foot here, a broken rib there. His eyes land on a hand that’s laying near his feet, and he takes a step back. He decides maybe it’s better not to look too hard at the details. Jeno bends down, picking up body parts and chunks of flesh at random―really, he just wants this to be over as fast as possible. His brain shuts off as he works, refusing to process the action, and it briefly occurs to him that operating on autopilot is probably the only thing keeping him sane.

He’s been working for barely a minute when he reaches down to pick up the hand resting on the ground near where he’s crouching, and as he drops it into the bag his eye catches a glint of something sparkling in the morning sun.

It’s a ring.

Jeno picks it up, brushing the mud and bile from the surface. It’s odd, how such a mundane object can make his heart tug in some intimate way he can’t decipher. But then he flips it over, runs a thumb along the inner curve, and that’s when he sees it, engraved in the smooth gold. _For my full sun. You are my heart afire._

Jeno drops the trash bag, and something sloshes out of it, but he’s too transfixed on the object in his hands to notice. He’s brought back to that day years ago, when he’d given Donghyuck a gift for their first anniversary. A simple thing, just a little sentiment of the unending devotion Jeno had already known he’ll feel for Donghyuck for the rest of his life. Infinity. A circle. A ring.

Jeno pauses for one eternal moment, and he swears the world stops along with the beat of his heart. It stutters back into motion, and the ring comes into focus, and Jeno can no longer ignore this, or what it all means. Suddenly the blood left between his teeth tastes a lot more like poison, fermenting into something bitter in his gums. His body reacts, and in seconds he’s on his knees vomiting out what’s left of the love of his life, like he’s trying to put Donghyuck back together again. His throat burns, and the bile in his mouth has a bite to it that quickly turns sour.

Jeno pushes himself up to stand, ignoring the grime coating his knees to run inside the house. He heads straight for the bathroom, setting the ring on the counter so he can scrub at his teeth until his gums ache and he can’t tell if the blood is his or Donghyuck’s anymore. He forces himself to shower next, a desperate attempt to sterilize himself, though he’s well aware he’ll never feel clean after what he’s done.

After that, he pulls on a new pair of boxers and sits at the kitchen table in a haze. His eyes keep darting to the back door, like Donghyuck will walk in any minute and say he’s sorry for being late, but he’s proud Jeno got himself washed up, and would he like breakfast now? Jeno will say yes. He’s never craved Donghyuck’s burnt blueberry pancakes more in his life.

But Donghyuck doesn’t walk through the door, and he doesn’t say any of that, and Jeno sits in suffocating silence for hours, just waiting for something to happen. He’s frozen, fear and shame and grief all vying for a hold on his heart. Being pulled in so many directions, it’s no wonder it breaks.

He’s staring at the fading light of the sun disappearing behind the trees, twisting Donghyuck’s ring around his finger distractedly, when his phone rings from somewhere in the next room. He snaps to attention, rushing to dig it out of the couch cushion where it had slipped out of his pocket when Donghyuck pulled him down onto his lap last night, and answers the call without checking who it is.

“Hyuckie? Baby, I’ve been so―”

Mark’s voice drowns him out, frantic questions dying on Jeno’s tongue. “Hey, so Hyuck never came over.” His voice is thin―he’s scared and exhausted, even if he tries to hide it. Jeno wonders how he must sound. “He texted me about a flat tire at like, 7:30 last night, and I haven’t been able to get ahold of him. I’m kinda worried.” Jeno can practically hear him biting his nails, a nervous habit since they were kids. “You seen him?”

Jeno’s world shatters for the umpteenth time in the span of twelve hours. “No, sorry,” he answers shakily. “I haven’t.” Mark proceeds to ramble about calling the police and filing a report and other things Jeno doesn’t register for what feels like forever. He just agrees with everything Mark says and tries his best not to leap at the door every time he hears the house creak.

It isn’t until Mark hangs up that Jeno walks back into the bedroom. He just needs a hoodie; it’s freezing in the house at night, and he isn’t exactly clothed enough for it. He grabs one of Donghyuck’s sweatshirts and slips it on, smells the lingering scent of home and his boyfriend’s favourite mint body wash on the soft fabric. But then he turns around and sees the red-stained sheets, and his knees hit the hardwood with a sick _thud_ as he gasps for air. He chokes on his own heart, tears spilling out over his cheeks in waves, till his eyes are swollen and his voice is hoarse.

He falls asleep there, on the floor, lips pressed to the cool metal wrapped around his finger.

**Author's Note:**

> how we feeling, fam?
> 
> in case you're wondering, the engraving on hyuck's ring is from a [quote](https://www.quoteslyfe.com/quote/The-moon-is-my-fear-The-sun-45520) in a book
> 
> nohyuck nation let's be [moots](https://twitter.com/mullethyuck) <3


End file.
